


Until the sun drops on the city and country

by Spylace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassination, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Conspiracy Theories, Dom/sub Undertones, For reasons, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lots and lots of therapy, M/M, Murder, Non-Chronological, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Out of Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychic Bond, Soul Bond, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Steve is asleep, Bucky paints the town red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the sun drops on the city and country

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me that psychic-soul bond isn't for everyone and that you should consult your doctor before ripping your heart out and shredding it to pieces.
> 
> Also, this piece hasn't been betaed. All mistakes are mine.

Winter in Stockholm is cold and grey.

Steve has never been on this end of a scope before. That’s Bucky’s job. It gives him a sense of vertigo to catch a man in his crosshairs, the stylish cut of his wife’s head bobbing alongside. His arm is stiff from the late hour but he is ready. He mutters a brief prayer and pulls the trigger.

 

It’s late. Bucky’s swearing wakes him up but he pretends to sleep until Bucky stumbles over, breath sharp with moonshine as he shakes him from sleep.

“Stevie, hey, hey, get up.”

“Bucky” He says groggily, parting the sheets. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’ve got something for ya.” Bucky sing-songs, color high and excited as he sinks to his knees.

“Whazzat?” Steve yawns as the cold air skirts past his legs.

Bucky takes his hand. He becomes awake at once.

“Finally saved up didn’t I? Was going to wait for your birthday but I couldn’t” He swallows and beams so bright it hurts. “Couldn’t wait.”

The upturned palm closes around a leather cord, the kind that subs wear in poorer neighborhoods because they can’t afford anything better than a shoelace. Steve thrusts it back at him as though burned. It’s too much. “Bucky, I couldn’t. I—“

“Please Steve?”

He sits up straighter at the plaintive noise, something deep and ancient coming alive at the command. Steve swallows. “Are you sure?”

Bucky sways a little, still drunk from the night outside. But his eyes are clear and blue, a shade paler than his own. Steve always likened it to frost in winter, the way it edged slowly from the corners of the windows in white branches.

“Always”

“Okay.” Steve says, licking his lips. “That’s great. That’s—“ He loops the cord around his neck twice, tightens it until Bucky can feel the second ring press on his windpipe and finishes it off.

Bucky sighs as though a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He drops his head and nuzzles the bumpy skin, a cold nose finding the crook of his inner knee. Bucky keens when he pushes, placing a bony hand on the nape of his neck and for a moment, Steve feels mean. It’s the dom’s job to buy a collar. To see the coarse string wrapped around Bucky’s neck hurts more than it ought. Bucky trembles, eyes like slits of moonlight across the wooden floor.

He blushes. “Come back to bed Buck.”

 

“Where am I?” He demands and gets slapped for it.

Steve sees the news stand and the date is stamped November 22, 1963. He looks at himself in the mirror and does not recognize the gaunt stranger staring back at him. The room is red and somewhere, a child is crying. The breaks come apart easy. He sees the files and photos and wonders why Howard is in the mix. The man finally settled down with a girl of his own, even had a good-looking kid. They strap him to the chair and he knows what comes next. It’s hard to forget what your body knows and what your mind never forgot.

 

Somewhere in the ice, something screams out.

 

Steve Rogers wakes up and the world is bright.

A nurse comes in with a cheery smile, tells him to take it easy. He’s had a rough time. It’s a miracle that he was found at all and she turns on the radio. The game is on and the Dodgers are winning 4-2. Everyone cheers on the speakers and Steve feels sick. It’s all a lie.

He swings his legs out of the bed and says “You can stop now.”

“Excuse me?”

He closes his eyes and talks to whoever is listening outside the door.

“The year is 2011, April if I had to guess. I’ve been asleep for seventy years.”

 

It’s an airy room. Everything is open like the books across shelves might suddenly take flight over the city.

That would be something—he’s been asleep for seventy years and the world is just as stifling like he’s seen it all before. He knows the layout of the Triskelion from top to bottom. He knows what SHIELD is building beneath and what lies beneath the beneath.

Steve knows for instance that he’s not supposed to know any of this. He gave his life for this country and he never even got to see it grow.

It doesn’t matter; he’s seen enough.

The counselor seems pleasantly surprised by his progress and he wonders what it is about being a guy with no smartphone that equals disrespect.

“I have dreams.” He tells her. Just not good ones. But they are what he has.

“Your dom.” She says carefully.

“My _soulmate_.”

 

Their last night together and Steve draws him deep and tight thinking that if he’s good enough, he if he is good, Bucky will stay. Bucky will stay and he won’t go like it’s not something Steve hasn’t been trying for the past six months and he bites bruises into Bucky’s neck so he can remember. He will be good for his dom, he will be a good sub.

Bucky simply looks sad.

“This is not what this is for.”

Bucky unravels the cord from his neck. It’s not hard. Bucky never makes it as tight as it should be. Claims that he might choke on it or something equally stupid. “Be mad at me if you want, but don’t do it to yourself.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Then tell me not to go.”

Steve presses their foreheads together and opens up so Bucky knows. Bucky knows that Steve loves him, is proud of him, will wait for him, sub or no.

“Don’t go.”

 

Twenty-first century is both new and old, true and blue. People still come in pairs like doms and subs. People don’t switch. They don’t think there is any other way.

“I want my collar.”

It’s their collar. Bucky bought it. They shared it. Bucky sometimes wore it to show the girls that he wasn’t serious, he just wanted a good time. Girls tried anyways.

“You are not a natural sub. Why keep up the charade?”

“We took care of each other.”

Steve can’t explain further. He can’t say that sometimes, Captain America too needs orders.

 

“The paper’s going to hire me. We’re going to have enough money saved up by summer to get a better place. You’ll be there right?” Steve rambles, tying his half of the cord around Bucky’s wrist.

Bucky kisses him.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

“Sometimes it feels like he’s still here. Like I can find him if I just _look_.”

“It’s natural for you to feel this way. You lost your partner. You need someone to blame. A reason for your tragedy.”

Steve remembers the cold, metal cell he was inside and the tiny square window where everyone could peer in. The first time Bucky was taken, he hadn’t felt anything beyond the faintest impressions tinged with fear. Bucky had always tried to reach out, sent messages of love that could be felt as a wind’s caress over the ocean. But he never locked him out. Not until he got the first taste of battle and found it bitter beyond all reason.

He breaks the chair arm.

“What happened to Bucky was beyond tragic.”

 

“Captain?”

 

Steve lifts his mismatched hands and sees that they are drenched in red. He never gets the blood off his arms fully. It lingers in the silver strata, rusts until they have to replace the pieces one by one.

This is penance.

The wires are exposed and he watches as the kill switch is inserted.

It is a beautiful thing.

 

“What did the doctors say?” Steve demands because Bucky’s done it to him enough. There are things a fella can afford to keep secret and this isn’t one of them. Steve pushes at the barriers between them and Bucky immediately pushes back, blue eyes flashing like the burst of Hydra weaponry.

“I’m fine. That ain’t what I’m here for.”

Bucky bites his lips and Steve feels the dread climb his spine that isn’t his own.

“I” the swell of his throat bobs. “I lost the collar.”

Steve immediately holds their hands together and pulls him aside.

“I’ll get you a better one.” He promises, untying his end of the cord from his wrist. It takes a quick bite to sever it in two. One more second to weave it into Bucky’s tags. “It’ll be a present for the both of us.”

Bucky shakes his head and says ruefully, “Never knew when to quit did you?”

He smiles.

“Learned it from the best.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky drags him off. This is more familiar. “Let’s see what else you can learn to do with that body o’ yours.”

 

The phone rings.

The man’s eyes roll pleading. But he has long since lost the gift of speech and to a person who cannot even heed.

The Winter Soldier packs away the needle and puts a plastic bottle on the bedside drawer.

 

“I remember things, places I’ve never seen before.”

Fury stares at him disdainfully with his one good eye.

“If you’re still having nightmares.”

 

Steve knows what dreams are. Dreams are when he is lost in the forest of Normandy, looking for a way out. They are when he and Bucky are tangled together in the sunbeam, a leather cord knotted around their fists. This is not a dream.

Before the insurgents come and set fire to the family home, he kills them individually one by one. He pinches the children’s nose shut and snaps the wife’s neck. He makes sure that the husband knows who sent him and why his family had to die. The man gives up then, curiously when he sees the star.

He simply holds his breath and lets go.

 

His dreams are filled with blood and sometimes he just paints the entire room red for the effect. A human body contains six quarts of blood. That is a lot of bodies just to fill a room.

 

“I checked. It was real.”

“And?”

“Bahalwalpur, Pakistan, August 17, 1988. October 11, 1987, Geneva. Dubai, January 19. I was there.”

They were all high-profile targets. Steve spent an entire afternoon crawling through the microfiche section feeling like he was slowly going insane.

“So you’re telling me that for every kill, you hauled your ass out of the ice and put yourself back in when you were done?”

Steve deflates.

“I don’t know.”

But Fury seems troubled, he catches a flicker of it in his lone eye.

 

His heart pounds suddenly, skipping a beat like he’s about to have an asthma attack. Steve’s vision cracks, splitting in two and there is an echo inside his head, an empty chamber where his thoughts and feelings bounce around like they’re the only thins matter and he is staring into a scope once more. It’s not cold but the night is young. He fires on the exhale and looks up sharply just to catch the sun’s glare bounce off a metal railing.

“Captain Rogers, are you alright.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine just—“

There is nothing there.

 

The next day, he reads the news.

 

“Geeze Steve, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling so good?”

“Didn’t want to ruin our outing.”

Years later, Bucky will remind him of throwing up on the Cyclone. But for now, he looks stricken and just as green as he is as he rubs his back, drawing circles into his ribs that feels better than anything else.

“Lookie here boys.” Catcalls Hodges and his pack of bullies. “A sub who thinks he’s too good for it and the second who believes him!”

They fall into howls of laughter like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Bucky wants to beat the tar out of them he can tell but Bucky’s still got a string around his throat and good subs don’t pick fights. Good doms don’t let their subs get into fights. Hodges fixes his face into a mean sneer. He tells Bucky “Be a good sub and run along.”

That is a mistake.

Bucky is handsome, tall, swaggers like a dom but he submits for Steve sometimes like he’s a sub hurting for affection. Something crumbles in him when he sees Bucky sink to one knee and he wants to devour him whole, hide him from the world and savor him until he is all gone.

The rush of feeling leaves him shaken and Bucky flashes him a knowing look, sly and just as hungry. Steve wonders why this is wrong. Why it is wrong to have the cord tied between the two of them when it’s doing no one harm.

They are each other’s alpha and omega and no one can tell them otherwise. Not the eggheads on TV or the mooks on the docks throwing around colorful words about men like them.

They don’t always talk to each other this way; it’s Steve’s decision. He doesn’t want Bucky to know that the littlest things get his dander up or how difficult it is to breathe in the mornings when Bucky has his head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of his heart. But he opens up now telling him everything he should because Bucky is his everything.

“Till the end of the line.”

 

There are things he still can’t explain. Like how he can pick a basic tumbler lock in two seconds while using the microwave gives him a headache.

Steve cranks up the charm to an eleven and takes the elevator up.

There is a redhead on the chair opposite of Fury’s desk. He thinks he’s seen her before; he knows that he’s seen her.

He trained her. A part of her. The part that believed she could be redeemed and wanted to wash the red off her ledger using more red.

She stands up and immediately knows that something is wrong. She has her guns out but he trained her. His limbs may be stiff from the cold, his head heavy and aching but his body remembers. His body remembers the kneejerk reaction of so many kills that it’s natural to slide past her, curling his hand into a fist.

“Where is he?”

 

Bucky wakes.

 

“Captain Rogers, step away from the Director.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

He can’t feel the heat of his skin through the hand but it’s best that he uses the metal one. Less chance of an accidental slip. His grip tightens over the two, catching Pierce on the exhale and forcing the stale air back into his lungs. Fury merely grunts like this is a minor inconvenience. Maybe it is from his point of view.

“Bucky” Steve says, lifting Fury off his feet. “Where are you?”

 

“Drop him.” The female agent orders. Steve ignores her and puts pressure on Fury’s throat. “Am I the Winter Soldier?”

“The Winter Soldier is a ghost.” She answers, her voice hard. “Most intelligence organizations don’t think he exists.”

“We aren’t most, are we? Am I the Winter Soldier?”

 

“No”

 

“I’m here.”

Winter in the thick of war. Captain America marches in his stars and stripes, making a conspicuous target for Hydra agents who are stupid enough to come out from the safety of the trees. It’s easy enough to pick them off one by one. He is clinical in his killings. But he feels warm when he sees Steve looking back at him. He feels like he is doing something _right_.

 

“You’re real.”

Bucky has a dozen Hydra agents pointing guns at his back. Steve has the redhead agent.

This could go either way but Bucky knows something Steve does not.

“I’m real.” Steve agrees, vision blurring. Euphoria climbs his belly like the first lungful of air. He keeps seeing Fury’s eye patch overlaying wireframe glasses. “I’m real.”

“I thought I made you up.” Bucky chokes. “You were in my head. You saw!”

“It’s okay Buck.”

“No, no, no...”

“Bucky, Bucky, please.”

“I lost my collar.” His grief bleeds through their bond. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, we’ll get you a new one.” Steve swallowed. “Bucky? Bucky, please listen to me.” He doesn’t have to say the words out loud but it helps in its own way. It feels real. “I’m coming. I’m coming to get you.”

“I’m so happy.” Bucky interrupts, his voice ragged. “You have no idea.”

“ _Please_.”

“Goodbye Steve.” His hand squeezes Pierce’s neck. “This is for you.”

 

Their link severs and this is infinitely worse than the lurch of Bucky slipping past his fingers or the slow, inexorable madness of being on ice, seeing everything through Bucky’s eyes. If that had been terror, spurring him to wake up and find his lost soulmate, this is an end. It is nothing; it is emptiness.

Steve drops Fury who crawls away on his knees, dragging air past his bruised throat.

The red-haired woman dives to protect the Director with her own body. He doesn’t touch them, he doesn’t touch any of them but screams and hits the wall. He wishes that he had. Maybe they would have put him down.

 

While Steve is asleep, Bucky paints the town red.

It's not enough.


End file.
